


Bar Scene

by Book_of_Kells



Series: Miami Night Life [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Mild Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-11
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2018-01-11 22:44:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1178849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Book_of_Kells/pseuds/Book_of_Kells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandor was just looking for a quiet drink & a pretty song.  In the end, he got more than he ever expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bar Scene

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own this or any of the characters I wrote

The air was clean, fresh like a daisy. Usually bars have that smoky atmosphere that goes hand in hand with the booze. Walls ingrained with nicotine that years of bleach couldn’t get clean. Somehow the bartender had a rule of no smoking that the chimneyfish seemed to respect. Not even an expensive Cuban in sight.

And it was an upscale bar. 

Hardwood floors smooth as a glass, reflected the muted lighting from the Art Deco fixtures overhead. The long lines of the dark mahogany bars with the decorative brass handrails formed a square in the center of the room. It looked like the decor had been modeled after the Cheers tv show. But in reality, it was probably the reverse. This bar was much older, like an old showgirl that still knew how to throw out the charm. It had a distinction of being a former speakeasy that with the right owners had moved into era where old was chic particularly in Miami Fl.

Top shelf alcohol flowed like a river to all who bellied up to the bar. Just saunter thru the door, choose a supple leather bar stool that appealed & drown your troubles in a bottomless glass. Of course, one had to have a code to get thru the door, & the code changed monthly or weekly. If you didn’t know the code, you didn’t bother to knock, you were never let inside the den of iniquity. 

Sandor had done a good turn for the current owner’s son once upon a distant time, so as a result the code was always emailed, just in case he wanted a drink. Doing good turns was never high on Sandor’s list, but seeing the cringing boy in a crack house, the decision was easy to make. Grabbing the back of his shirt & shoving him out the side door before his brothers in blue crashed in the front, Allard had been spared an arrest record that night. Shame didn’t save him at the Blackwater.

Shaking himself out of the beginning of dark memories, Sandor gazed around the room. From his vantage point off the back corner, he could see who drifted in & who was getting sloppy. People watching can be a fun sport if the players make it worth the time. The clientele tonight was as varied as the owner’s wine selection. 

A couple of highbrow strays from the financial district occupied one corner, drowning their misery in a carafe of red wine. The man’s dark suit had an expensive cut that would have made him look great if he hadn’t put on 20 pounds recently. The woman in her Armani knockoff was trying to be a man more than a woman. The short pixie hairstyle highlighted her bulldog jaw, making her look like prizefighter on estrogen. With no make up to soften the over all, she exuded aggression in waves. Both talked quietly but not that it took time away from their glasses.

Being a cop was both an advantage & a curse. It helped pick out the two high class hookers at the bar, looking for business just down the way from him. The dark haired one, Shae, or so she told the guy beside her in a lilting accent, had an olive complexion that bespoke of Mediterranean climates. Her colleague, a tall amazon called Alayaya, twirled her long dreads thru her fingers as she chatted up the bartender.

There were groups & singles dispersed thru out the room. Black clothed wait staff flitted from table to table like morbid butterflies drawn to the barfly’s bright thirst. As his searching regard offered his own image back to him in the mirrors over the bar, Sandor got an eyeful of why he was here tonight.

The scars

The latest & greatest in a long line of skanks marched out of his life this afternoon, scathingly advising him to try another round of plastic surgery. His mismatched face wasn’t getting her wet anymore, no matter how big his cock was. Thank god, Sandor thought, shifting to the right so the pickling at the hairline & webbing at the ear were more noticeable, it wasn’t really more than sex. He had gleefully thrown away her body wash & deodorant, which was all she had been allowed to leave there. Ms Skank was never allowed to sleep overnight. Sandor’s trust only went so far.

When screeching of the tires outside had alerted him that she was well & truly gone, Sandor plopped down on the floor with his two shepherds & a beer. Being a k-9 handler was great if you loved animals. His granddad had always said “dogs will die for you but never lie to you”. After finishing the beer & several belly scratches later to his best friends, he let the boys outside to their runs & packed it up to go to Seaworth’s. No sense staying home when he could watch her.

With his mind still a morass of anger & self pity, he swung around in his seat to the singer at the back of the room. God, he loved her voice. High, clear notes bounced from the high ceiling, the bar’s acoustics amplifying her song better than a mic ever could. She didn’t have the traditional low register that was more suited for blues, but the music was sweet nevertheless.

Thursdays were usually his night here at Seaworths. Drop by, have a beer or two, maybe a glass of bourbon. The notes caressed him like a balm, slowing easing his angst & calming him, if only for a short while. It was more crowded those nights, easier to get lost in a shuffle, though the little bird on stage would always give him a half smile in greeting.

Tonight, she wore a charcoal grey wrap dress that advertised cleavage but not so that it was vulgar. Davos gave her a small clothing allowance which she used on grey dresses. Always shades of grey & white, like a little snow bird. The wrap nipped at her waist showing off curves in just the right places. The hem ended just above the knees, her longs looking like polished ivory works of art.

Her hair was professionally done, piled high on her head with ringlets. He could tell by her eyebrows & creamy skin that she was a natural redhead. Blonde highlights with dark lowlights blended into her long fiery tresses that glinted as she moved with the song’s rhythm. With hair like that she could be doing Paul Mitchell commercials !

The overall effect was enough to make a dog sit up and beg. Or howl as Sandor thought to himself. She would be fending them off tonight, he imagined as he noticed some bar campers ogling from a side banquette. The snickering was understandable but the hand gestures were just rude.

Looking over his shoulder, Sandor signaled to Sal who was cleaning up a spill behind the bar. Sal was the manager & brooked no disrespect to any who entered his domain. Sal put up the mop & towels so he could make his way down to Sandor. With his body still towards the band, Sandor looked Sal in the eye then nodded to the three idiots who thought they were funny.

Following his lead, Sal’s expression soured with disdain after getting a load of what the jokers had going at their table. He whistled lightly thru his teeth to get the attention of a passing waitress. The short brunette weaved her way quickly to the bar top, a confused smile pulling at her lips. Leaning forward, Sal whispered into her ear but also laying a hand on the girls forearm. The waitress nodded, looking him straight in the eye with her professional smile firmly attached, then hurried off to do his bidding. 

Turning back to Sandor & catching his eye, Sal murmured, “need a favor”

Looking at him fully, Sandor replied ” You got it.”

Tapping his ear at the band, Sal folded his arms on the mahogany blowing out his breath. The ensemble ended their song, light number about high hopes, but when they failed to start the next set, the redhead turned around to look at her accompanists, then swung her head in Sal’s direction. Leaving her boys on the dais, the little bird danced her way around the tables, ignoring the catcalls from the banquette like it was just another day.

“Alayne, I am cancelling the rest of your shift. This is Clegane & he will walk you home. Get your things, chica.” Sal advised in low tones. Not once did he look at the trio of troublemakers while he spoke. 

Giving Sandor a brief smile & a nod, Alayne slipped back along the side of the bar, heading for the backroom door, no questions asked. A nod from Sal had the band back playing a deep throated tune, the trumpet player at war with the bass saxe. The waitstaff had been distracting the morons with jokes & giggles when the little bird walked into the back. But now they moved away in rush to get to the job.

“It’s on the house tonight, Clegane.” Sal stated grimly, “Make sure she is safe getting home. God I hate rich entitled little shits, & their golden cunt mothers.”

Sandor shrugged. He knew that those boys had just lost their free pass. Placing his dead soldier on the wood & giving Sal a salute, Sandor strode out of the room just as the waitress gave the rich pricks their check. The ruckus they caused made him turn back to watch, but the male wait staff had the loud asshats covered.

The backroom door opened into a narrow hall that ended with a staircase leading to the streetside bookshop. The bookshop had been a library back in the day, now the literary ambiance continued. There were three doors before you ran into stairs. The glaringly white walls were almost institution with bare bulbs burning harshly overhead. Sandor walked down the hall, he wasn’t so drunk that he needed help but the oceans of blinding white grated his eyeballs. 

As if called, Alayne hurried out of the door nearest the stairs, even at the distance, Sandor could see she was concerned. Tension tightened the corners of her big blue eyes & her plump lips pressed into a thin line. Flashes of grey peaked out from a long black raincoat, she hadn’t bothered to change her shoes. The high black hooker heels clacked on the tile floor as she floated in his direction.

“Hi, Im Alayne” The smile stretched the skin at her cheeks…

He didn’t bother to look at the outstretched hand, much less take it.

“No, I don’t think you are”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading ! I do hope you enjoyed !


End file.
